Tamable wolves are raging outside like a mob of people; a storm-hurricane roars like this when the immense horde-mass starts. A storm of art - not so much anymore - so that only a few on-duty Celeb-stars can become really big altar-jerking *******, whom the next generation of cyber-*** will look up to as worthy role models. Beauty contest, Anna-ball, but for what?! The good-sounding promise-speech flows from a jug, so that an employed model-presenter can always do well, since he hardly knows anything else.

Because "some" have to be barefoot to march even the length of a street towards success and a certain dubious fame. The exhibitionist overheatedness of voluntary, but still publicly humiliating, naked undressings is necessary so that a tabloid channel that is already doomed to die can still produce the sufficient number of viewers. Because every futile existence here is now torn in two and the simple man, tearing his hair out, can no longer decide what would be better?

To go or to stay in this wasteland doomed to Nirvana?! Among the fluffy roots that were already intended, that which could not even be born yet. The introverted consciousness that does not lie to itself cannot be a virtue now, but rather a conscious mistake. It would be good if superficial faces would not only suggest manipulable duplicity - but would redeem reality with a little sincerity and the pearly waters of tears. Why do we now have to to listen to what and how the wolf pack of the troubled city night is howling, completely out of its senses?!